Ling Ling Pocky Hours

11.11 - Pocky Day

"Hey guys, we got a new IntEreStIng video for you today!" Brett announced, rocking back and forth in his seat. "As some of you may know," Eddy took over, "today is pocky day."

"What is pocky, you ask? It's a Japanese snack that's like a, uh, wafer stick thing covered in some kind of flavor like chocolate or strawberry," Eddy explained.

"The challenge is that two people will eat one pocky from opposite sides," Eddy continued, cringing slightly as Brett wiggled his eyebrows at the camera.

"Of course," Brett interrupted, "we're gonna put a musician spin on it." Brett pulled out a small pouch from beside him while Eddy pulled out a box of strawberry pocky from his side. They placed them on the table. Brett and Eddy shared a look and burst out laughing.

"We're really gonna do this huh?" Brett said, wiping laughter from his eyes. Eddy nodded, aiming a finger heart at the camera. Editor-san will probably put some pink filter or whatever whacky lovey-dovey thing they think of.

"Okay!" Brett said loudly, taking a breath to regain composure. Eddy stifled his laughter best he could. He looks very red.

"So the name of the game is Ling Ling Pocky Hours. The rules are this: one of us will be pulling a piece of paper with a name of a piece from this pouch." Brett gestured to the small cloth bag. "We don't know what pieces there are here, by the way," Eddy interjected briefly. Brett continued, "Then we're gonna hold a piece of pocky in our mouths. The goal is to eat the pocky while playing the piece, and whoever messes up first OR flinches away first loses." Neither knew it but both of them were thinking: we're so fricking screwed.

But that's fine. Do it for the views. Nobody needs to know about feelings, amiright?

(They share a brain cell so much and yet don't even realize they're thinking of the same exact thing, smh)

"Wait, you forgot one more thing," Eddy said. "There's a point system. There's 6 pieces, whoever flinches the least and keeps on playing gets the points."

"Loser has to post a story!" Brett yells into the ceiling. Editor-san's probably gonna comment on that later, poor neighbors. Eddy's face became marred with regret. Whose idea was this anyway?

Oh right, it was Eddy's idea. Genius.

Of course, Brett was on board like the reckless lunatic that he is. Oh well, the camera's rolling, might as well make this good.

Onward with the game!

They moved the table out of the way and had their violins ready.

Brett picked out the first piece—Elgar's Salut d'amour, of fricking course, all the uhh BAE? Breddy? Whatever, their 'shippers' are gonna have a field day, that's for sure. They'll be bombarded with fanart and tweets and whatever else media their fans create. Editor-san's gonna fan the flames high, too.

Eddy tries not to be too excited as he took the pocky and placed it in his mouth. He waited for Brett.

And realized that the height difference was gonna be a bit of an issue.

The show must go on.

Brett looked resigned, placed the violin at his shoulder and nibbled on the uncovered part of the pocky. Eddy's face filled his vision—too close, too close. Brett felt dizzy.

They breathed into the piece in sync, pulling the notes from their strings as though they were one player, one violin, one bow. Sweet music filled the room, just the right amount of sweetness, like plain milk tea. Calm. Normal.